


Tiny Miracle

by VengefulLibrarian



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulLibrarian/pseuds/VengefulLibrarian
Summary: Anna and Edmund are the proud but exhausted parents of a little Hewlett. The baby doesn't want to sleep, so the former Major Hewlett puts himself on daddy duty for the night and reflects on the changes in his life.





	Tiny Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Although this fic can definitely be read as a standalone, it is also a loose follow-up to my previous stories So, if you are interested in some of the events leading up to this tale, check out my prior Turn fics, "Hidden Away" and "A Wedding in Setauket."

Edmund's eyes and head and limbs felt heavy. Something had woken him out of a dead sleep, but he wasn't certain what it was. He lay very still, hoping that he would drop right back into blissful sleep. Just before he drifted off again, he looked at Anna out of the corner of his eye. She slept on beside him.

And, then, again. . . a small, snuffling sound caught his ears. Awareness fell over him as his eyes opened and he tried to rise from the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. He ran his hand through his hair, and, looking down, he noticed that he was still wearing his breeches and linen shirt. He had apparently been exhausted when he had returned home. It was uncharacteristic for him to retire fully clothed. He swung his still-stockinged feet over the edge of the bed to rest on the floor and pushed himself off to stand. A little too quickly.

He grunted quietly as he stumbled, catching himself before he ended up in a heap on the floor. Occasionally, he completely forgot about his missing toes, but that lapse didn't usually last long. He regained his balance and padded around the bed to the opposite side of the room.

The source of his midnight waking looked up at him from her cradle. There was a full moon that night, and just enough light gleamed around the edges of the curtains to illuminate a pair of big eyes blinking at him from within a tiny face. She was swaddled in a blanket, but he could see her legs kicking discontentedly inside her knitted prison.

“My little love, whatever is the matter,” he whispered as he bent down next to her cradle, propping himself on his better leg. She stopped her quiet fussing at the sound of his voice, but she kicked her legs even more furiously. His daughter was not happy.

“Shhh, now, little one,” he whispered, stroking her soft head. “Your mama thought that you would sleep well tonight. Are you so determined already to prove her wrong?” He lightly chuckled. This baby might be the thing that would finally give Anna a true challenge.

The littlest Hewlett had been born only three weeks prior, and she had not fallen into anything resembling a reasonable sleeping routine. No one in their little family of three was sleeping for more than snatches at a time. Still, he wondered why she was awake already.

Based on the moon's position, it was just after midnight, and Anna had fed the baby about an hour before. She had just finished swaddling the infant when Edmund had just come upstairs after a long day. Removing his jacket and waistcoat, he kissed both Anna and the baby and sat on the bed. “She's had a full feeding,” Anna had whispered as she laid the sleepy bundle into the cradle. "She may actually let us rest tonight.” With that, Anna had crept into the bed and curled into his side. He must have fallen asleep shortly after that.

The previous few nights, the baby had slept for about two hours at a stretch, but now it seemed that she was prepared to stay awake after only a single hour of rest. He lightly laid two fingers across her forehead, checking for any sign of fever, but she only felt pleasantly warm. He adjusted her blankets, making sure that they were not too tight. As he did so, he saw her face start to screw up into the scowl that he recognized as the face she often made before launching into a really good cry.

Glancing back at Anna's sleeping form, he didn't have the heart to wake her just yet. Since it had only been such a short time since the baby's feeding, he didn't think that she could be hungry again so soon; and, for purposes other than feeding, he was just as capable of caring for her as Anna was.

The baby continued her quiet fussing as he lifted her carefully into his arms, holding her wiggly form upright against his shoulder. He quickly walked to the door before her limited protest could turn into a full-blown revolt. Twisting the door handle silently, he opened the door and lightly closed it behind him. His feet make no sound as he crossed the hallway to the facing room and entered it. The moon shone in from the window where the curtains had not been drawn, and there was enough light for him to see without lighting a candle.

Bouncing the squirming bundle against his shoulder, Edmund walked her around the room that would be her nursery when Anna decided that she could allow the baby to be across the hall. Knowing Anna's fiercely-protective nature, Edmund guessed that it might be several months before their room was _theirs_ again.

“It's not that I mind sharing with you, my love,” he said, pulling the baby back from his shoulder to look at her. “But you _are_ the interloper here, you know. I found your mama first.”

And, with that, Edmund's daughter let out the wail that she had been holding in since she had woken him. Tired as he was, he couldn't help but smile at the tenacity of his miniature revolutionary. He bounced her lightly, trying to calm her, and began walking round and round the nursery. He prayed that Anna's exhaustion would allow her to sleep through the baby's piercing cries. He shifted her from one shoulder to his other, and, without warning, she let out a very unladylike belch. The shoulder that had once proudly worn the white epaulet of an officer in His Majesty's service was now covered with an impressive stream of baby spit-up. The baby quieted almost immediately. Edmund shifted her off of the dampness of his shirt so that she lay in the crook of his arm, and she regarded her father with a look of something akin to satisfaction at a job well performed

“Darling, are you quite finished then?” He asked, casting about for a rag or something with which he could clean up the mess. She blinked at him in response, then yawned. Edmund couldn't help but smile at her. This little creation of theirs had certainly turned their lives upside down; but, to him, she was like a tiny miracle come to life, and he wanted to enjoy every second he had with her.

* * *

What had once seemed a far-fetched dream to him was now his reality, a thought that always filled him with utter wonder.

At some point in years prior, Edmund had resigned himself to the idea that he would never be a husband, much less a father. The military career that he had fallen into was not generally conducive to family life, especially for an officer, and it was not as if eligible women were throwing themselves at him.

But then Anna Strong had come hurtling into his life.

For so many reasons, it had seemed that he would only be able to admire Anna from afar, like a particularly beautiful constellation that kept drawing his eye. She fascinated him—her spirit and intelligence were only matched by her beauty and manner—and, in spite of his better judgment, he discovered that he could not stay away. Placing everything on the line--his reputation and his standing with her and with the town he commanded--he reached out to her. For someone who believed in order and preparation as much as he did, it was the riskiest, most uncharacteristic gamble of his life; but, the day that he had married Anna, it had paid off. Or so it had seemed at the time.

He now knew all of the details of those days in Setauket, every last secret that Anna had carried, from her role as a Patriot spy to the reasons that she had originally accepted his attentions.

The discovery had been painful, and the ensuing weeks had been dark, possibly even more so than the time he had spent as a captive of the Continental army. The woman whom he had placed on a pedestal and then married did not exist, a fact that he could not reconcile for a time. Eventually, though, he knew that he could not face life without her by his side. Just as Anna had learned to let go of her past in order to open her heart to him, he'd had to let go of the Anna that he had thought that he knew in order to love the real woman. He no longer dwelt upon that time for long. The beauty that had come of it all was that the love that they had found for each other had endured so great a trial that neither of them had reason to further question the other's devotion, and that was victory enough for both of them.

They had also endured the task of departing America for Scotland. Circumstances forced them to make a quick retreat—another story for another day—but, by the time they arrived at the Hewlett family's estate, rumors were abundant that the British were looking unlikely to prevail in the conflict with the colonies—still the colonies in Edmund's mind, no matter how many times Anna rebuked him. “The _United States,_ Edmund,” she would say, with the slightest bit of a triumphant gleam in her eye. _Impudent girl,_ he would think but never voice. At the end of it all, she was _his_ impudent girl, a fact that in his mind far surpassed the outcome of a clash of nations.

Before their hasty exit from the colonies, Edmund and his elder brother had been in correspondence regarding the possibility of converting the main crop output of the estate from tobacco to cotton as others had successfully done after the collapse of the tobacco trade with the former colonies, and it seemed as if the time had come to begin the experiment. His brother's health was precarious, necessitating his remaining close to the doctors in Glasgow, and he along with their mother wanted Edmund to return to assume oversight of the day-to-day aspects of the remainder of the family's business. The timing was perfect. He was ready for a new challenge, and Anna was ready for a new start.

Initially, he had been concerned that Anna would come to regret moving away from her home, especially after being told the extent of her involvement with the Patriot's cause, but he soon discovered that she seemed to bloom once they were in Scotland. Having been the mistress of Strong Manor prior to the rebellion, she settled right into the routine of the estate; and, thankfully, she and his mother, Margaret, quickly became friends, although he quickly found himself squaring off against the pair of them when they teamed up against him. Margaret Hewlett was a force of nature, but she was overjoyed with having another capable woman's help about the estate and parish and, perhaps even more so, with the fact that Edmund had found himself such a charming bride.

She had also wasted no time in hinting that a grandchild would be quite welcome.

Early on in Anna and Edmund's marriage, it had been a blessing that there had been no children conceived during that chaotic time, especially considering the roles that they had both played on opposite sides of the war. Now, settled in their new home and new life, they were happy just to be together. They took a great deal of comfort from their mutual acceptance of each other, flaws and conflicting views included. Even most of their arguments (and being that they were both stubborn people, there were many) ended with Anna calling him an “uptight, unbending, pompous snob,” grabbing him by his lapels or waistcoat or collar, and pulling his face to hers. The terms of surrender were usually negotiated behind the nearest set of closed doors, except for that one occasion when the loft above the stable was made to suffice. It seemed that she had taken it as her personal mission to help him make up for all of the years that he had spent in a cold, lonely bed. _This woman will be the death of me_ , he would chuckle to himself. But, as he himself had very nearly experienced in the Patriot camp, there were far worse ways to die.

One late afternoon just weeks after their arrival in Scotland, Edmund was just sitting down to the cup of tea that Mrs. Findlay the cook had graciously allowed him to take at the large table in the kitchen. He had just returned home after another long day of wrangling the details that accompanied the revival of the estate. He felt a headache coming on, and, seeing that it was his mother's tea time and she would be thus occupied, he thought he might be able to avoid her for a bit by slipping in through the kitchen. His mother was a fine woman, such a dear, really, but he needed some quiet just then.

He had barely taken his first sip when his mother's voice greeted him from the arched entrance to the kitchen from the servant's hall.

“Edmund! There you are. I've been waiting for you because I have some news.” Margaret Hewlett sailed into Mrs. Findlay's domain and settled across from him.

“Mother...how has your day--”

“Yes, yes. You'll never guess who I ran into in town today.”

“I haven't a cl--”

“It was Dr. MacPherson. You remember him, of course. He's been the local physician ever since poor Dr. Douglas...well, you know, he went a bit soft in the head.”

“Oh, really, I had--”

“Well, I saw Dr. MacPherson, and I wanted to ask him about you and Anna.”

“You wanted to ask _him_ about me and--”

“And Anna. You've been married for, what is it? _Well_ over a year now, isn't it? And, really, shouldn't we have heard some news already?”

“News?”

“I've been thinking. You are a bit older, and I know that Anna is several years younger than you, but I've been wondering if that might perhaps be _the problem._ ”

The only problem Edmund could see at that moment was that his tea was getting cold and his headache was getting worse

His mother, clearly oblivious to Edmund's cooling tea, continued.

“So, I asked Dr. MacPherson if that could be the reason why. And he said—now, I don't remember his exact words, mind you—but he said that he didn't think so. You're young enough, he said, and sometimes these things just take time. Then he pointed out that Stewart Campbell and his wife just that their eleventh. Eleventh! And Stewart is at least ten years older than you if he's a day!”

Edmund closed his eyes briefly, feeling the headache settle itself around his temples.

When he opened his eyes, he caught a quick movement in the doorway behind where his mother was seated. He glanced back again, but there was nothing there. His mother's voice dragged him back to her soliloquy.

“And that put me in mind of Abraham in the Good Book. You remember that he was at least one hundred years old when Sarah bore their son, and Sarah was ninety! So, I said to myself, if the Lord could do that then, He certainly could work such a miracle now!”

“Mother, really, do we have to--”

Just as he started speaking, he saw the movement in the doorway once more. He trained his gaze in that direction, and, suddenly, a pair of dark eyes peered around the door frame to meet his eyes. There was Anna, no long bothering to hide her eavesdropping nor her absolute amusement at the interrogation that he was enduring. He raised his eyebrows at her, silently imploring her to rescue him. Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and ran down the hallway.

_The traitor!_ he thought. He had rescued her from that blackguard Simcoe at least twice, and this was his thanks! Now, his means of escape having disappeared, he picked up his cup of frigid tea, took a sip, and prepared to withstand the continued onslaught alone.

“What were you saying, Mother?”

* * *

Weeks later, the weather had cooled considerably; and, in preparation for the following year's growing season, Edmund found himself making many trips to Glasgow to meet with his brother who was handling the financial aspects of the estate given his closer proximity to major banking institutions. The arrangement suited both of them, and it looked as if the coming year would see some success in the transition to cotton exports.

One night, Edmund returned home long after everyone else had retired for the night. He was worn out by travel, and he had missed Anna during his two days of absence. In the morning, he would relay the details of his trip. She had a good head for numbers, and he valued her opinion--she could spot a gap in strategy long before he or his brother noticed it. He planned to take her with him on one of his next trips.

As silently as possible, he crept upstairs and prepared for bed in his dressing room, snuffing out the candle before entering the bedroom. Not wanting to wake Anna, he crossed the floor without a sound and gingerly got into bed. The beautiful sleeping lump next to him didn't move, and Edmund quickly fell into an exhausted slumber.

Hours or minutes later—he really wasn't sure—he heard Anna exclaim from her pillow, “Edmund, you're home!” Or something to that effect, since he could have been dreaming for all that he knew.

“Hmmmm,” was the only response that his sleep-filled mind could muster.

The next thing he knew, Anna was leaning over him, her fingers running through his hair. It was a pleasant feeling really, but they had all the next morning to get reacquainted. He quickly drifted back into a dreamy, shadowy place somewhere closer to sleep than wakefulness.

“Edmund,” came Anna's sing-song whisper. _Such a lovely dream. . . .Anna, here, in my bed. Just like the dreams I had in Setaucket. . . ._ Those were the dreams for which he tried to stay asleep.

His beautiful, sweet dream bride kept speaking, his brain not really comprehending the words that he was hearing. . . .

“News. . . couldn't wait. . . awake. . . Edmund. Edmund!” He felt her hands on the sides of his face.

“Mmmm. . . yes. . . my love.”

“Dearest, you're not hearing me. . .visitor. . .spring. . . .”

“Oh, really. . . . ” Anna was such a darling, but the news of a visitor in the spring really could wait until morning.

“Major Hewlett!” Anna finally pronounced out loud.

Edmund's eyes flew open. Fully awake now, he saw Anna's face inches above his, her lovely dark curls falling onto his chest.

“Did you hear a word that I said? I know that all of this traveling has become a burden, but I just couldn't wait.” Seeing that she now had his attention, she sat back a bit.

“Couldn't wait for what, love?”

“Major Hewlett, you're going to be a father in the spring!”

Edmund now felt as awake as if he had just slept a full night and then some. He sat up to face Anna and carefully took her face in his hands.

“Are you sure? How do you know?” His mind raced with questions as he tried to comprehend the mystery of it all.

“Well, I've been feeling. . . oddly. . . for several weeks. A bit tired, certain smells bother me, and just. . . not quite myself. So, I talked to your mother while you were gone--”

“My mother knows?”

“Yes, Edmund, your mother knows. To whom else would I speak of such delicate matters?"

He had to give her that. But, still, his mother. . . the news would be all over the parish by late morning. It was fortunate that Anna thought to tell him in this midnight hour, otherwise, he may have had the news from the minister's mother-in-law. Well, at least now his mother would have something other than his age or fertility about which to worry.

“And, so, I saw the doctor earlier today, and he concurs with your mother. He believes that we are to be parents in the spring. It only makes, sense, after all. I haven't had a monthly visit since August, and there were all those nights. . . . ” She drifted off at the memory.

“Ah, yes. . . . ” he responded knowingly. Late summer had been an especially good time that year for astronomical pursuits, with clear nights and temperate weather. On several nights, Edmund had escorted Anna to a distant part of the estate, ostensibly to take advantage of the ideal conditions; but what was astronomical soon became anatomical. If the math was correct, their child had been conceived under a rather spectacular night sky.

“Oh, Anna, my love, my love--” He gathered her to him, and his heart nearly ached with the joy that filled it. Gently, he kissed her, his mind traveling over the events that had brought them together and made that moment possible. Eventually, they reclined back into the bed, Anna's head pillowed on Edmund's chest, his arm resting protectively around her.

* * *

The next months passed quickly. Edmund's days were filled with tenants and figures and plans for the coming year, and, now with the baby on the way, he felt a renewed sense of urgency to to secure the future of the estate. Even though he rarely had a spare moment, the sight of Anna's blossoming frame often made him pause to thank heaven for his station in life. If he had thought her beautiful before, he was beyond entranced now that she carried their child. The days were busy, but Edmund looked forward to each evening when would return home to find Anna and pull her into his arms

Anna, thankfully, had no trouble with the pregnancy; in fact, she nearly sailed through everything with ease. She insisted on carrying on with her regular routines and duties around the estate and in the parish, much to the astonishment of his mother, who claimed that she was constantly amazed by the enduring vigor of Edmund's colonial girl. And while Anna continued to remain physically strong, she was a little less predictable emotionally. He learned that a giggle could inexplicably turn into a full-blown crying jag with little provocation.

One day when she was well into the last weeks before giving birth, Edmund entered their room to find Anna looking in the mirror and adjusting her dress. He stepped behind her and put his arms around the very visible swell of her abdomen.

“How are you today, my darling?” he asked, lightly kissing her hair.

“Edmund, Nancy had to let out my dresses _again_. If I get any bigger, I will eclipse Mrs. McGillicuddy,” she said with a pout, referring to the minister's exceedingly-rotund mother-in-law.

“Anna,” he said, turning her to face him, “I would still love you even if you were twice the size of Mrs. McGillicuddy.”

“That's not true because you wouldn't even be here to love me! Someone that size would crush you! And then you would be dead, and I would be alone---raising your child alo-o-o-ne--” her voice trailed off as she began to sniffle.

“Dearest, that's not going to happen. No matter what, you are the most beautiful thing in the world to me. _Always._ Nothing could change that."

“Ohhhh, Edmund! You're too good to me! I don't deserve you at all--” Her previously forgotten tears began again, and Anna threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder with a sob. Completely bewildered, Edmund just held her until her tears had subsided.

By dinner that evening, all was well again; and, afterward, they were able to go for a walk by the stream. Edmund noted that Anna only waddled the slightest bit, although he chose to keep that thought to himself.

* * *

Anna's labor had begun late in the afternoon on a lovely day in May, and, by late evening, the baby had not made an appearance. Edmund had been forced outside by Anna and his mother. It took everything within him to not demand to be allowed into back into the room, but Anna had declared that his pacing was more distracting than the labor pains and couldn't he just let her have his baby in peace? And, so, having lost that battle, he retreated into the clear, warm night.

The stars were especially bright, the constellations on fine display, but he couldn't have named a single one so worried was he about the proceedings going on in his bedroom. His walk took him around the stable once again and then down to the creek that cut across the acreage of the estate. He wouldn't go far. Even now, he could glance back to see directly up to the house. His gaze was constantly drawn to one window on the second floor that was lit from within like a beacon.

_Not unlike another window in another house in another country,_ he had thought, letting his mind wander.

How far they had come since then. At that time, he had never dreamed that the events that were transpiring even as he walked would ever be a possibility. Why the good Lord had chosen him to be a man so blessed was beyond all calculation.

Finally, one of the servants came to retrieve him, stating that the doctor said the time was upon them. Edmund's pulse picked up and tension pulled at his shoulders. He hurried back to the house as quickly as his foot would allow and proceeded right to the scene of the activity. One of the maids answered his knock and said, “Doctor wants you to wait just another minute. The babe's almost born.” Edmund watched as the door closed.

He turned and leaned against the wall next to the door, frustration and worry coursing through him. _This is taking so long. . . what if she. . . what if the child. . . women died in childbirth. . . ._

And then. . . and then, Edmund heard the sweetest sound his ears had known. The shrill, angry cry of a small creature protesting its release from its warm and comfortable home of so many months. It was too much. Edmund let his head fall back against the wall as tears escaped his eyes and tracked down his face.

An age passed before the door cracked open again, and the maid said, “Sir, she's wanting to see you.” That was all it took. He brushed past the poor maid, nearly knocking her down, and burst into the room. Immediately, his eyes went to Anna, flushed and tired but alive and smiling.

At that moment, all of the versions of Anna that he had known flashed before his mind—Anna boldly addressing him directly when Richard Woodhull would not hear her appeal, Anna questioningly agreeing to attend the dinner at Whitehall with him; Anna curiously peering into the telescope; Anna silently pleading with him to save her from Simcoe; Anna quietly listening as he read to her from a favorite novel; Anna slowly opening her heart to him and agreeing to be his wife...and now, Anna joyfully peering up at him from their bed, a bundle tucked sweetly into the crook of her arm. He crossed the room with just a few steps, then slowly perched next to his wife on the bed.

“My darling. . . ” he said, reaching out to brush back a few strands of her hair. As he did so, his gaze traveled down to the new occupant of the home.

“And who is this,” he said, his voice catching as he spoke.

“Edmund, meet your daughter,” Anna whispered, tears glossing her eyes.

A daughter. . . Edmund gazed in wonder at the little girl. Anna gingerly gathered the blanket around the baby, and, still unaccustomed to handling her, awkwardly placed her into Edmund's arms.

“Oh, Anna...” His eyes met hers again before dropping back to his daughter's face. The newborn's eyes blinked up at him a few times as if to greet him, her mouth screwing up into a pout. Just as quickly, her eyes closed again as she settled into her father's embrace.

“Hello, little one,” he said, greeting his daughter. “She's beautiful, my love. Just like you.” He leaned over and kissed Anna's lips, the product of their love between them. “Thank you, darling, for this perfect, precious gift. How. . . how do you feel? I was so worried.”

“Which was exactly why I couldn't have you in here. You worry _too_ much, Edmund.” She reached up to lightly run her hand over the hair near his collar. “I'm tired and sore, but I'm so happy. She was worth the wait.”

“She is a treasure—one that I was certain I would never see; yet, here she is.” He dropped his gaze back to his daughter. “But our treasure is still unnamed, and that will not do at all. Did we decide upon 'Margaret,' or is that just my own recollection of events? You cannot stomp away so easily this time, so it seems as good a time as any to inquire.” A smile played around his mouth as he saw Anna gearing up to protest.

“We did _not_ decide upon 'Margaret'! It's a fine name, to be sure, and 'twould be a lovely tribute to our mothers seeing that they share the name, but this baby—you and I both know that the Almighty intended for this baby to come into existence because it is only He that could have brought our two stubborn souls together. She is proof that beauty can come from tragedy, that the war's ugliness did not triumph. She is everything that is good and _unique_ about our very relationship, and she needs a name that reflects that. I maintain that we should call her 'Halley.'”

If his arms hadn't been so full, Edmund would have applauded his bride's case. If she had been a solicitor, he would have pitied anyone who tried to challenge her in court. 

“Clearly, that is a name that is very dear to me, Anna, but it would be quite unconventional for a young lady such as this one, would it not?” 

“If either of us put much importance on convention, dear Edmund, I would still be in mourning in Setauket, and you would be trying to piece together a military career from the ruins of the British army.”

At that moment, the baby snuffled, a small noise that almost sounded like disdain at the behavior of her parents. Anna and Edmund looked down, smiling at the life they had created. 

Just then, the morning sun that had been faintly lighting their room blazed forth in its full glory as if to announce that a new day had begun and all should take notice. A golden ray beamed through the partially-closed draperies to light the very top of the baby's head like a small halo. The effect was immediately breathtaking, and a quote sprang to Edmund's mind.

“'Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, / Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn,'” he whispered.

“Edmund, was that 'Aurora' I heard?” Anna said, as if testing the name. “Aurora. . . .” Edmund watched as she formed the word, and she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“It's perfect!” she declared. “ _She_ is perfect.”

“Much like her beautiful mother.” Edmund leaned over to kiss Anna.

At that moment, Margaret Hewlett bustled back over.

“Now, give me that darling baby," she demanded, interrupting their tender moment, "I've waited far too long to become a grandmother, and I need some time with my granddaughter.” With that, she scooped the newborn out of Edmund's arms and marched over to the doctor who was waiting patiently. “What do you think, Dr. MacPherson? I say that her eyes will change to brown. Not as dark as Anna's, but more of a deep honey color. Of course, she is small and will remain so—built like the Hewlett side, I say. And she will have auburn hair, that much is clear. But the eyes—those eyes are not going to stay blue. Wouldn't you agree with me, doctor?” The doctor barely had time to form an answer before the senior Mrs. Hewlett launched into the next subject.

Edmund took the opportunity to press a kiss to his sweet Anna's lips before tucking her back into their bed for a well-deserved rest.

* * *

Aurora Margaret Halley Hewlett--proof in all ways that her parents could compromise--now looked up at her daddy from the nursery's crib as he finished changing her into a clean nightdress. Edmund loved to look into her eyes as she studied him. She was so new to the world, but her eyes seemed to hold all the wisdom of the ages. He often wondered what those eyes would behold throughout her life, and he vowed to continue to make the world around them a better place for his daughter's sake. And one day, when Aurora was older, he vowed to take her and Anna to visit America. They might be raising Aurora among the tradition and order of the old world; but, even Edmund had to admit that, if the former colonies could produce such a wonder as his wife, there must be something to their societal experiment. He not only wanted his daughter to experience the young nation, but he also wanted to see the place where her parents' lives were forever changed.

He had just lifted her back into his arms, when he heard a light tapping on the nursery door. As he suspected, Mrs. Brown, the nanny that his mother had insisted upon hiring, stood on the other side, the candle in her hand faintly illuminating the hallway.

“Forgive me, sir, but I thought that I might have heard the babe. Can I be of any help to you?” she asked, observing his damp shoulder and the wide-awake baby in his arms.

“Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Brown. Miss Aurora and I are getting on quite splendidly as you see. I'll just rock her a while myself here to see if she settles.”

“As you wish, sir,” she sighed. “Just alert me if she doesn't, and I'll walk with her for a bit.”

“Of course, Mrs. Brown. Now, go get some rest yourself.”

“Good night, sir,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment as she walked away.

Edmund smiled. Anna had been incredulous when his mother had mentioned that she wanted to hire a nanny for the new baby. Anna insisted that since she had run _spy operations_ during a _war_ , she was more than capable of taking care of a newborn, thank you very much. His mother had persisted, however, and, primarily for the sake of appearances, had engaged the highly-recommended Mrs. Brown, who to this very night remained baffled at the lack of work that she was required to do for the former major and his puzzling American wife with her strange ideas about independence.

“Now, little one, the esteemed poet Homer said it best: 'there is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.' I do believe that this may be a time for sleep--for all of us, if you'd be so kind.” Smiling once more at her precious gaze upon his face, he lifted her back to his shoulder, the sweet-smelling tufts of hair on her head tickling his ear. He crossed the room to the rocking chair and settled into it. He kissed her head as she rested on his shoulder. As he began to rock his darling daughter, he quietly sang the words of an old poem that had been set to music:

>  "Go, lovely Rose--
> 
> Tell her that wastes her time and me,
> 
> That now she knows,
> 
> When I resemble her to thee,
> 
> How sweet and fair she seems to be."

Soon, Edmund noticed that Aurora's breathing had grown steady and even. He relaxed further into the rocking chair and snuggled the baby closer. He had crossed the ocean twice, facing injury, heartbreak, near death, and dark nights; but to have come to such a moment, with his beloved Anna sleeping just steps away and his sweet daughter in his arms, it was worth it many times over.

Edmund Hewlett was a blessed man, indeed.

* * *

Anna awoke with a start. She quickly noted that the room was very quiet— _too_ quiet. Although it was dim, there was enough light for her to quickly glance around the room.

No Edmund. No Aurora. No wonder she had been sleeping so solidly.

She immediately guessed where Edmund would be, and she felt such gratitude toward him for letting her rest. He was so willing to take an active part in helping with the baby as well. Without him, she might have given in to the temptation to allow the nanny to assist, especially since their daughter had such little interest in sleep most nights. Although she appreciated Margaret's insistence upon having the nanny, Anna was determined that she and Edmund would be raising their daughter, not hired staff. She would never have said as much to Edmund, but it just seemed so much more American that way.

Grabbing a blanket to wrap around her shoulders, she lightly stepped across the room and crossed the hallway to the nursery. As she suspected, the room was occupied. Her heart leapt at the sight that greeted her from within.

Lit only by the light of the moon, Edmund sat in the rocking chair with Aurora on his chest, her head tucked under his chin, his hand cradling the back of her head. They were both asleep.

The fact that she was there in Scotland in that moment observing Edmund Hewlett holding their sleeping daughter was nothing short of a miracle to be sure. It was not the life that she had imagined, but the life that she now knew was so much more deeply satisfying. To love and be loved by Edmund Hewlett, and, now, to watch Edmund dote upon their daughter, to see him as he continued to make progress toward rebuilding the estate, to be his partner in life and in heart—she nearly felt unworthy when she began to think over the richness of her life. 

_Edmund, thank you for all of this—for waiting for me, for believing in me when you had no reason to even trust me._

She had expressed those thoughts to him before, but she would remind him again soon. He deserved it after all that he had endured because of his love for her.

But, maybe not until after she had convinced him that purchasing a pony for Aurora at this stage of her life was possibly quite premature. Oh, yes, she had heard that he had already made inquiries of a local breeder who specialized in ponies. That day would come--she knew that she couldn't hold her equestrian-hearted husband off forever--but maybe she could at least persuade him to wait until Aurora could enjoy the pony on her own. He was also talking of constructing a playhouse beneath some large shade trees, and not just any playhouse, but a miniature version of the manor house itself. Anna was realizing that she would have to be diligent in her oversight of Edmund and his gifts for their daughter or they would have a very spoiled little girl on their hands. Luckily, Anna had a good set of spy skills at her disposal--Edmund wouldn't get away with much.

_The Culper Ring. . . still spying on the British!_ Anna laughed silently. 

She pushed away from the door frame to cross the nursery; and, removing the blanket from her shoulders, tucked it around her husband. Gingerly, she lifted the baby into her arms, kissing the fuzzy head as she settled the little one onto her shoulder. Using her free hand, she brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over Edmund's forehead.

“Sleep well, my love,” she whispered. He didn't stir.

She tiptoed across the nursery floor, her eyes tired but her heart full, and headed back to bed. It would only be an hour or less before the baby required another feeding, and she hoped to get a bit more sleep before then.

A new day would soon dawn with its wealth of love and work and joy, and Anna wanted to be ready to embrace it all.

**Author's Note:**

> \--I lost count of how many times I overused words like "little," "tiny," and "precious" in this story, but I turn to absolute goo when I think of Edmund being a daddy. I cannot be held responsible for my actions.
> 
> \--It is likely that Anna would have had the option to hire a wet nurse to feed her baby, but science in the 18th century was beginning to favor breastfeeding, so it wouldn't have been out of the ordinary for a woman in Anna's class to nurse. 
> 
> \--Many births were attended by midwives in the 18th century, but physicians were also attending some births, especially for women in higher classes.
> 
> \--As of this writing, season four is just starting to air; and, while I have great doubts, I also retain a small amount of hope for some sort of Annlett resolution. Oh, my poor, battered heart. . . .
> 
> \--The song Edmund sings to Aurora is from a poem by Edmund Waller written in the 1600s. It had been set to music many times over the years, and it seemed like the kind of sweet, old song that Edmund would know and sing to his daughter.
> 
> \--Dudes, Edmund as a daddy--oh, my goodness, I think he would be such a good dad. He would, of course, tell nerdy dad jokes and occasionally drone on about science and drop way too many literary reference, but he would be such a good dad. Daddy Hewlett. . . . I am goo. Sparkly, candy-coated goo.


End file.
